


All's Fair (In Love and War)

by Violet_Janou



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, First Kiss, Love Letters, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Janou/pseuds/Violet_Janou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s orders: to fight for King & Country<br/>Sherlock’s orders: To write to a soldier he didn’t know</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 10, 1941

**Author's Note:**

> I have always found WWII fascinating as well as this idea came to me while I was ridding on the bus to work. I want to thank my best friend greeneggs_101 for helping me with the fic (your the best gal!) 
> 
> Comments are loved, as well as if anything seems off or wrong please let me know so I can go back and fix it.

Sherlock huffed as he moved the last trunk of his belongings into his new flat in New York City. The place was nothing compared to his home in London. But with the war that was being waged against the Germans, and with all the men in England going off to fight. It seemed logical that a man whose father pulled a few strings to get him out of combat would be sent to a country that wasn't in the war- yet. But Sherlock was convinced that it was only a matter of time till America entered the war. 

The flat his parents had rented for him was decent sized flat. It had two bedrooms, a fairly large living space and a decent sized kitchen. Though Sherlock knew he wouldn't be utilizing it much for food as much as he would for his experiments.

Rolling the sleeves of his off white button down up, he pulled off his sweater vest, setting it down on the back of the chair Sherlock bent down and began to drag the end of his trunk with all his clothes and shoes in them. With a grunt he pulled the rest of the trunk into his new bedroom. 

His father had sent his new and up and coming minion in training to America a week before Sherlock had arrived, for she was posted out here to work with the American Government (but he wasn’t supposed to know that.) to his new flat where she got food stocked for him as well as got his bedroom all setup with sheets, a duvet and pillows. Though Sherlock didn’t want to point out that he wasn’t going to be sleeping much, it took up time from when he was able to sit and relax his body and mind and disconnect from the world. 

He set the trunk down at the foot of his bed. Reaching into his black trouser pockets he pulled out his metal holder for his smokes, as well as his lighter. Opening up the case Sherlock took two of his long thin fingers and pulled a smoke out. Sticking it into his mouth, he lit the end. Took a nice long drag and blew out the smoke. His nerves began to calm down once he took a few more drags. 

He left the bedroom, deciding that his cloths could wait. They were of little importance to him. Sherlock walked back out to the living area. Taking another drag of his cigarette before setting it down in the ash tray he needed both hands to look for this trunk. Finding the trunk with all his science equipment and notebooks with his experiments in it. 

Looking at his wrist watch Sherlock saw he had a few hours till he met with the principal at the school he would be teaching at. Sherlock knew his father was trying to kill him by making him teach High School students. They were not only stupid, but they were so tedious and Sherlock was 100 percent certain all they had on their minds was sex. This, according to Sherlock got in the way of the important things in life. (As well does sleep and eating according to Sherlock). 

But to add to his frustration and dismay Sherlock had been ordered by his mother to write this soldier fellow. 

“He lost his parents in the Blitz. The least you can do is write him once a week, do you understand me Sherlock Thomas Holmes?” his mother Margret warned him before he left for America. 

Sherlock had kept the paper with the information to write the soldier at. He knew his father and now even his twat of an older brother could find out if he was going as he was told. Sherlock huff, unlocking the trunk he began to slowly move his science equipment from the trunk onto the kitchen table. 

He glanced over and eyed the refrigerator, it would have to do in size, he now just had to find way to acquire the body parts he was going to need. Just as he was setting down his notebooks there was a knock on the door.

Sherlock stepped over the trunks and made his way through the maze of his belongings to the front door. As he opened it up there stood his father’s henchman, or henchwoman. She stood there, in her black suit and black shoes. Her brown hair down and flowing around her face. 

“Hello Mr. Holmes,” she said with a smile. “I was just on my way home and your father wanted me to stop by and give you this.” She bent down and picked up a case. 

_Typewriter Remington Model 5_. Sherlock thought as he looked at the box. He took the case from the girl. She had to be 27. She had ambitions and once the war began she took a chance. Sherlock looked at her, this wasn’t the women his father tended to see on and off. No, this girl had a goal and she wanted to go places. Why she was working for his father was beyond Sherlock. “Thanks for the typewriter.” He told her as Sherlock sat the case down next to him. 

“And one more thing Mr. Holmes, your mother felt that it would be easier when you wrote to the solider if you had his picture. I was able to procure a copy of the photograph that was taken of him when he joined the service.” The women said handing Sherlock an envelope that contained a picture of the solider. 

“Thank you…” 

“Anthea.” She said. “You can call me Anthea.” Smiling she turned on her heals. “Have a good day Mr. Holmes.” 

“You too Miss Anthea,” Sherlock said as he looked down at the envelope. He walked back into his new flat, pushing the door closed with his foot he picked up the typewriter with his right hand. Setting the case down on the desk that was in the living room. He set the letter down next to it. Now he had to write this soldier. “Let’s see who this mystery soldier is,” Sherlock said as he pulled out the chair and sat down. 

Before opening up the envelope Sherlock pulled out another cig lit it and stuck it into his mouth, his black curls falling down on his head. He was too occupied today to actually do anything to his hair, and rarely saw the point of doing anything with it. Blowing out some smoke, Sherlock set his cig down in a plate he had set there for ash. 

Taking a knife he cut open the top of the envelope and pulled out a picture. He stopped as he looked at it. 

There stood a man, who was no more than 25. Hair was no doubt a sandy blonde and his eyes were a deep blue grey color. His face was round but not to round. Sherlock examined the picture even more. He got good marks in school, was at the top of his class even. He had seen trauma before war. 

Setting the picture down next to the typewriter Sherlock stood up, he would focus on writing the letter later. Now he had to find the nearest store that sold cigarettes.


	2. September 15, 1941

Jolting awake in a cold sweat John sat up as he took a few deep breaths to bring his heart rate back down. The room he was lying in was black but he knew the rest of the unit was either asleep or off doing god knows what on their last days in France. They had a new assignment they were now to head over to Italy. Laying back down on his cot he tried not to think about the gnawing pit of fear he had in his stomach. But John knew the fear was more the reoccurring night terrors he had about his parents. Rolling over onto his left side John took a deep breath in and closed his eyes trying to transplant himself back at home. He could see his room; he could smell his mum cooking, his dad smoking his cigar and his sister playing some record as they waited to have a family dinner. Letting out a sigh he rolled onto his back and looked up at the bottom of the bunk that was above him. “John, you awake mate?” 

John turned his head and looked at his friend Greg. “Yeah.” 

“Thinking of home?” 

“Yeah,” John admitted as he took a deep breath in and held back the tears. It had been a year and John knew he needed to grow up; he was a 25 year old man. But talking about his parents, or the Blitz or what use to be his home out loud always made him choke up. 

Greg nodded as he sat up. He slipped his boots onto his feet and grabbed his fags. “Wanna join me for a smoke?” John knew sleep wasn't going to come to him so he agreed. He slipped on his own boots and headed out of their barracks. Taking a seat on the steps Greg handed John a smoke, taking the light John lit the end and then handed it back to Greg. 

John didn't want to pick up smoking, and he still didn't care for the taste but he did feel that he could indulge himself once and a while. “What has you up at the hour?” John asked him, he felt it was better not to talk about him for a while. 

Greg cleared his throat. “Molly.” John nodded he knew about Greg’s wife. They were married just two months before he was asked to sign up and ship out. “You know before I came here we wanted to start a family. But everything happened so fast. I just don’t want her to be alone if I don’t make it,” he explained as he blew the smoke out into the open sky. “What about you Captain, what has your stirring in your bed?” 

“Thinking of what used to be and what is now back in London.” John admitted to him as he tapped the cig and let some of the ash fall by his feet. “I have the fear that when this is over London won’t be the London I once knew. I don’t even know if I can stay there…” 

Greg looked at John. “I got a letter from Molly. She said that you are to come and stay with us. We have an extra room. It’s all there for you till you get yourself sorted out and get back on your feet.” 

John huffed as he took a long drag and blew the smoke out. The smoke rising around his head. John rubbed the back of his sandy blonde hair with his tan hand. “Thanks mate but…”

“John,” Greg said as he looked at his friend. Though John outranked Greg they had formed a close bond. It was nice having someone like a brother around. “I mean it. Molly lost her mum in the blitz and she really wants you to stay with us. She has a big heart and she had connections at the hospitals. I’m sure she could talk you up and maybe they would give you a job right when you get home.” 

John looked down at his boots. “Okay, I will think about it mate.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Greg said as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder. 

“What are your plans when you get home beside make babies?” John laughed as he finished off his smoke. He set it on the step, took the top of his boot stepped on it and put it out. 

“That and I want to pursue a job at Scotland Yard.” Admitted to Greg. “I went to Uni for law. I want to work my way up the ranks and one day run the place.” 

John nodded. “I see you doing that mate.”

“What about you? A girl back home you can’t wait to hold in your arms again?” 

John shook his head. “Not unless it’s my sister and even then she is still blaming me for her having to leave London. She is 20 years old and so oblivious to the world around her all she can see is herself and what is good for her.” 

Greg and John talked for a while longer before they headed back in. John climbed back into his cot and closed his eyes; he was able to drift to his normal sleeping patterns within a few moments. He knew that the day ahead was going to be a long one. 

 

~~~ 

 

“Watson!” 

John shot up in bed. The rest of the men were getting ready but no one was moving out yet. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw a letter by his feet. Bending over he picked it up. The posting was American, which began to puzzle him even more. 

“Those birds who write to single soldiers I would guess. Maybe she sent you a picture.” Corporal Smith said as he passed out the rest of the mail.

John smiled as he took out his pocket knife. He carefully tore open the envelope. There was no picture but there was a neatly typed out letter. Leaning against the wall John unfolded the paper and began to read the letter.


	3. September 16, 1941

Dear Doctor John Watson,  


  
My name is Sherlock Holmes. I was given your name to write to you. I’m sorry to inform you that I’m not a female. I am in fact a 22 year old male who is now teaching Chemistry out in New York City, to less than intelligent high school students. I am also not an American either. I am a full blooded Londoner. Born and raised in Central London. I attended primary school, and then went onto Harrow and then Uni. I was exiled to this country for my parents, who know little to nothing about life itself, felt I would be safer for this country isn't at war. Though I fear my parents tend to close their eyes to the inevitable Doctor Watson and that I know America will be joining the war effort in more than the way they are now. I myself am upset that England took so long to join, for if they had seen what was going on and acted faster Hitler wouldn’t have grown to have the power he holds now. I guess in this first letter I should tell you about my life. Though I’m sure it will be highly boring, for it’s boring to write out. But alas I will. My brother is probably going to read this to make sure. I am the younger brother. The elder one Mycroft works with my father in the British Government. I have a mother. I went to Uni for Chemistry and was able to finish in two years and not the normal three. Simply for the fact I’m a genius. It’s been proved a few times. I know you will be reading thing and thinking that I’m lying. But from the photograph I was given of you I can tell that you had family issues dealing with either your brother or sister. You didn’t run away to the army like most of the young men but you volunteered for you know being in Medical School they would send you anyway. Your parents are dead for they were killed in the Blitz. Which I am truly sorry about. Though you have probably had enough telling you they are sorry when they don’t mean it. I enjoy chemistry as well as experimenting. It clears my mind of all the rubbish that it takes in throughout the day. I also have a knack for solving puzzles. My brain works faster than all the people I come in contact with, I notice the small details. Like you have a birthmark behind your left ear. It’s both a gift and a curse. I will be writing you a letter each week. I guess I will be telling you about my life, though I don’t know if it will be that interesting or help you cope with the war. I was told I needed to do this so I am. You don’t need to write back, if you do the letter will be read and appreciated and if not it will also be appreciated. 

  


S. Holmes


	4. October 31, 1941

Dear Mr. Holmes,  


  
It was nice to receive a letter, even thought it was a tad strange. I don’t mind that you’re not a female, having a companion to send and receive letters from a place not yet involved in the war will be a nice change. You were correct on the fact I have a birth mark behind my ear, as well as family issues. I do have a sibling. A younger sister. She is 20 and I had her go and move in with a distant Aunt down in Sussex. I didn’t want her in London when I wasn’t there to watch after her. I was born in Aldershot but my mum and father moved us up to the London area when I was five and they found out they were expecting my sister. I’m sad to say I just went to a basic primary school. Went to high school and then went to Uni where I studied medicine. I was going to go and work for my father for a few years and then open up my own practice, or even take over for him. But now his practice is rubble on the ground. I joined the army on my own freewill. After college with the tension building I felt it would be the proper thing to do. What kind of experiments do you do? I hope to hear about them in great detail as well as stories from your pupils in school. How is New York City? I have heard people talk about it as if it’s better than London. I don’t think it’s possible, but then again I’ve never been there. Before this I hadn’t really been anywhere to tell the truth. You don’t need to be so formal in your letters either. John will do just fine. I hope you have a great term of teaching and I will try and write back as much as I can to your letters. I don’t want you to think you are writing them for nothing. 

  


John H. Watson


	5. November 11, 1941

John,  


  
It was nice to receive a letter back, and to see that you are interested in my life and my work. Normally people would tell me to piss off after deducing them. So I guess, thank you for not doing that. To answer your questions. I do all kinds of experiments. The latest one has to do with how fast the fingers can last after being severed from the body, I have them in different temperatures as well as solutions. It’s going quiet well but I’m not sure how accurate my data will be since I have to be teaching from eight to three Monday through Friday. But I will see what happens. My next one I was thinking of involves eyes. The students I teach are stupid. They know little to nothing about Chemistry. Even in the advanced class I’m teaching, one would assume the students would know the fundamentals and basics but they look at me as if I’m teaching them in Latin. Which I might as well be since they sit there doing nothing to improve their education. I have had students try and chat me up, which I find repulsive and horrible to think a professor would fall for that. But they do. New York it nice. It’s like London but it’s not home. There are a lot of people. There are vast varieties of food to eat. I have yet to find a good place to get a good cuppa. But the American’s don’t seem to be effected too much about the war. They sit here smiling and spending money. I want to tell them all to save up for soon it won’t be like this. But they would look at me as if I had three heads and was a freak. But just wait John, I will be right. I know these things. But the city itself is very interesting. They had a large area where they house theater shows. I have yet to go to one but I feel I will at some point. They have this place called Coney Island where they have carnival games and rides opened at night. I took a walk down there and the people that show are something else John, my mind was racing with all the deductions and questions. I didn’t stay to long for it was a lot for my brain to connect and then store. Its loud like London, so when I’m in my flat I can open up the window, close my eyes and think that I’m back home. Now for my questions for you. Why did you sign your letter J. H. Watson? What does the ‘H’ stand for? It’s not doubt a family name that has been passed on over the years of Watson’s but it’s not your father’s name. I know that you are a doctor but you must have some other rank over there. I feel that the social convention is for me to ask you what you do. But I am genuinely intrigued to hear what you do. Besides patching up wounded soldiers I know that much.  


  
Also, please call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is my father and I don’t want to be anything like that man.  


Sherlock


	6. November 30, 1941

Sherlock,  


  
I have to admit that your letters are something I truly look forward to. They are filled with so much life to them. You have no filter and tell it the way life is. It’ is very refreshing to have these days. The 'H' in my name is my Grandfathers name which is Hamish. I am not named after my father. My sister bares that. My mother named her Harriet and they shortened her name to Harry. This was also my father’s name. While most people would call me John James Watson my Mother was very adamant about always telling me my middle was Hamish. As a kid I hated it, while people have Ben, or Philip as a middle name I was the kid that had Hamish. But now I have grown use to it and I’m actually proud to be named after my grandfather. I am a Captain in my unit. There are others that are above me, as well as there are quite a few people that are below me in ranks. My closest mate that is out here just recently enlisted, but he is like a brother to me. But I also am a medic. I can do the surgery’s but they normally have me out on the after the battle or doing an ambush to go around and patch up the men that aren't too badly wounded before they are taken away by the rest of the medical team. It’s dangerous I know, but it keeps you’re game. I don’t want to see the men die. It’s something that will always stay with you, I know. How did your finger experiment turn out? How do you acquire all these body parts anyway? And please tell me it’s not by grave robbing. (Though I can see you doing that.) I do that to, when I’m lying wherever we are station, I close my eyes and I try and think of the smells of the fish & chips stand that is across from my flat. I also think about real coffee, not that we don’t have any here it’s not the same. Though I should be happy with what we have, I still miss the small things about home. I’m sorry to hear about your students acting that way. I never would have thought as a student to do that to my professor. Just be careful you don’t want one of them to spread a rumor and then they see you as redundant and you are without out pay. Spending all that you have to send letters back over to Europe. Do you have plans to come back to London for the holidays? I don’t know if we will still be here in Italy or have moved by then. I do wish to hear about how New York looks all decorated for the holidays. Stay warm when you have to travel out in the cold.  


John


	7. December 7, 1941

TELAGRAM  
December 7, 1941

John STOP I am fine STOP I woke up this morning and heard of the attack STOP America is now at war as well STOP


	8. January 1, 1942

Sherlock,  


  
Happy late Christmas. I’m sorry I wasn't able to send you this sooner but I had to pull a few strings and cut a few deals for them to mail you this package. I was on leave while we were in Italy and I came across this purple scarf. I don’t know why but I felt I needed to get it and send it to you... I’m sure you have enough scarves, after all you are from London and we get cold weather as well. Don’t think you need to get me anything in return either; it was just a spur of the moment idea. I’m also glad that you are okay; I knew that you would have been far enough away, but when something traumatic and devastating like that people begin to act out in rage. I’m sorry you weren't able to spend the holiday with your family, even though you seem to be not so close with them don’t take their actions for granted. I shall also wish you a happy New Year. Instead of making New Year’s resolutions we all talked about what our goals were after the war. Most of the men want to get home to their girls and start families, or get married. But I want to open my own practice. I know it’s going to be expensive to start up, but I can do it. I’ve been saving all that I can from the little they give us. I doubt you do New Year’s resolutions; they are something stupid and tedious about them no doubt. But it helps to keep thinking that you will make it out of this as well as you will have a life that is close to normalcy when you do return. If not, you will end up going crazy. What are you plans after the war? I take it you won’t be staying in the states; I do hope that we could meet once this is all done. Have a pint or something.  


  
I hope you enjoy the scarf and if you don’t just don’t tell me.  


John


	9. February 14, 1942

John,  


  
I loved the present. It was very kind and I don’t think I’ve had a much more needed or used present. Most time people don’t put thought into their gifts which turns into giving someone socks, or ties. But this- it was perfect. My Christmas was good. I made myself some food and then worked on my experiments most of the day and listened to the radio. It was nice to hear about people being happy and cheerful around these holidays. New Years was just as exciting. I smoke the rest of my cigs and no store was open so I had to resort and try and roll my own which I truly hate doing.No New Year’s resolutions for me. Everyone breaks them within the first week of making them. But, I am planning to move back to London. Central London to be exact. I know a family friend who has a flat and she has offered me a reasonably low rent fee. It’s a two bedroom flat and comes fully furnished. But I don’t think I would be able to afford the place on my own. I’ve realized that I don’t get along with many people John. So I would need a flat mate, who I could trust as well as get along with. Someone who didn’t mind my experiments, my smoking, the fact I rarely sleep as well as rarely eat. If you know of anyone it would be a great help to me. I know you don’t talk much, but what happened with your parents John? I don’t want to be nosy but I’ve read that it helps to talk about traumatic events with other people. You have listened to me complain about my issues, I’m would be honored to be able to listen to what you have to say.I hope that you are safe John. I also want to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day. Even though the holiday makes no sense or correlation to what actually took place on this day where you have saints being martyred, but let the idiots do what they must to be happy in life.  


  
Looking forward to your next letter.  


Sherlock


	10. April 26, 1942

Sherlock,  


  
I had joined the army in March of 1939. I had done my training and then when Chamberlain stated England was at war I knew I was going to be deployed. It took a while for we are not a normal unit, so we waited while the rest of the men were sent out to fight against Hitler and communism. It was September 4, 1940 I was headed back down to Aldershot for they were giving us a location where we were being sent out to. I stood there in the doorway; I kissed my mum on the side of her face and told her not to cry for I was coming back. I was just a medic and nothing bad happens to them. I gave my father a hug. He told me he was proud of me and that no matter what happened I would still be his son. I told my sister goodbye but she brushed me off. She was too busy complaining about going down to see my Aunt in Sussex for a week. I waved back as I got into a motor car to head to the train station; I said that I loved them and that I would be okay. I woke up the seventh to hear about the bombing. I was then handed a telegram informing me that both of my parents had been killed. They gave me leave to go down and see my sister. She blamed me for this happening, I blamed myself. What hurt even more was when there was nothing left and I had to send her to live with our distant Aunt down in Sussex, for her only family she had was leaving her as well. I have written to her on and off for the past two years but it’s hard, she is growing up and I’m not there to be her big brother. I somehow feel that I am failing her. I use to blame myself for my parents death I guess it was the only way to cope with it. Stupid, I know but it helped. I soon realized that it wasn’t my fault, I wasn’t there I couldn’t have saved them even if I wanted to. I was able to hide for a while before the night terrors began. Private Lestrade was the first one to notice that I couldn’t sleep. That’s how we began to talk. Though I never told him all that I told you. It’s funny, I feel that you are the only one who can understand the pain and not just nod your head and act sympathetic. Again, I’m sorry if I’m sounding foolish or stupid. As for the flat mate issue you have been having. I think I know a man, he might have some baggage but he seems to fit very well with your ways and your living habits. As long as you can handle some might terrors and possibly a compulsive way of order. Our unit is moving soon, and I don’t know for sure where we will be stopping at. I will write you once we do and let you know I’m safe. Take care Sherlock enjoy the spring weather in America and just think the school year is almost up.  


  
John  
 


	11. June 1, 1942

  
Sherlock,  


  
We have settled. We moved across from Italy to the North of Africa. I must say I never thought I would be in Africa in all my days but it’s something to take it. It trip was okay, we lost a few men. When this war is over, the one thing I won’t miss is all the death. There are men younger than me that I see die. I don’t know for how long we will be here. We seem to just be moving left and right these days. It’s okay that we are moving it just makes it hard for me to send out mail and for your letters to get to me. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about 221b. I told Greg about the place I was going to be living. Since his wife Molly had offered for me to live with them till I got back onto my feet. Greg was thrilled about the place I found and he said that when we get home all four of us (I know you don’t care to much for meeting new people but you will like Greg) will go get dinner. I know you said before you weren't going to send a photograph. Though I know that was in an early letter, I would like to see who have been writing to for the past 10 months. It doesn't need to be a professional one, just something that I can put in my uniform pocket and keep with me. So I know I have something to live for when this is done. I hope your summer has been a good one. How is New York treating you? Meet anyone new? There was a new nurse that was dispatched to our unit. Her name is Sarah Sawyer. She has a brain on her. She could go back to school and get her medical degree even. Though she is nice, I wasn’t drawn to her like most of the other men where. I guess my taste has changed in who I like since I began fighting. Keep safe Sherlock.. I look forward to hearing all about summer and the people you have deduced, the experiments you conducted and all the things you found out.  


  
Yours, John

  



	12. August 14, 1942

  
John,  


  
My summer was good. I kept busy with some travel around the east coast and I did have some interesting finds in my experiments. The one with the limbs that I was working on came out with some interesting data, I have included a copy of my findings, but the experiment with the tongue turned out with not useful information. I’m sorry to not have written back sooner but I was out of town. Unfortunately I had to come back for school was about to begin and I guess that wanted me back. So I have to teach more idiotic high school students. As for going out with Greg and Molly I would be honored to meet your fellow soldier as well as thank him for making sure that you were kept safe while you were off fighting a war. I can make nice when I need to John, I do it five days a week for several hours when I’m teaching or while I’m force to mingle with the even more stupid teachers. There is this one, Anderson he teaches Physical Education, and John I don’t think I’ve met a man as stupid and dense as he is. Thinking about him makes me laugh as well as feel sorry for the poor bugger, he doesn’t know how stupid he is, which makes me want to laugh all the more. As you can see I have sent you a photograph of me. I hope that I’m not a disappointment to what you have thought I looked like. I am glad that the weather is beginning to cool down again so I can pull out my favorite purple scarf from my favorite soldier. I hope everything is good John. I have been having this feeling that it’s not and I just want to make sure that it is. So please let me know, even if you have to send a telegram I just don’t like this feeling that I’m getting.  


  
Yours, Sherlock 

  



	13. August 15, 1942

TELAGRAM August 15, 1941

Mr. Sherlock Holmes STOP We have to inform you STOP That Captain John H. Watson was shot STOP He is alive STOP And being transferred to a hospital in London STOP


	14. August 22, 1942

John moaned as he tried to open his eyes. It didn’t smell like the hospitals they had in North Africa. There were no other people talking. John just needed to open his eyes. As he did everything was blurry. His body began to panic. But he stopped as he felt two hands touch his arm. As he began to adjust he saw something.

The scarf.

The purple scarf that he bought in Italy for a special man back in America. “Sherlock.” His voice was horse and his left arm had pain shooting through it.

John heard a faint voice but he couldn’t make it out. Blinking he tried to figure out where was. Soon John felt the two warm hands leave and two sets of cold ones touch his skin. Soon, the fog lifted and John looked around the hospital room.

“Captain Watson,” the doctors said.

John widened his eyes as he looked around the room. He was in a private hospital room, no doubt back in London. He had no idea how he got here, or what day it was. As he looked up there was a tall man, about 6 feet, standing in the back of the room. His skin was pale and he was thin. His eyes were a piercing blue or green color. Black curls laid on the top of his head, it was obvious that the man hadn’t showered for changed his cloths for his dress shirt was wrinkled. The sleeves rolled up to his elbow. His tie hung loosely around the neck of the shirt. His black trousers wrinkled as well, the dress shirt not fully tucked into them anymore. _Sherlock_ John thought.

“Doctor Watson, please.” John said as he looked at his left arm. “What… what happened?”

The doctor looked at John and then at the tall man standing in the room. “You were shot while saving a fellow soldier out on the field. He is here at the hospital and we were able to save him as well.” The doctor took a deep breath and then told John about his own injury. “You were shot by a sniper in your left shoulder. The bullet tore through your rotator cuff and damaged your shoulder. It will heal and you will have mobility in it but you will have to be careful on the tension you put on it.”

John knew the doctor wasn’t telling him all the facts, he felt his face get hot as well as his stomach began to turn. “I can’t work now can I?” John asked, he felt a wave of nausea come over him. The tall man grabbed the bin and held it up as John leaned over and vomited. He lifted his eyes and they met the blue/green ones of this man. Taking a deep breath he sat up and set his head back on the pillow. Sherlock handed the bin to the nurse and walked to the back of the room. John watched him as the man, who he assumed was Sherlock seemed to shift his weight on his feet as the doctor talked to John.

“You can work, but you won’t be able to do surgery again. Your mobility in your arm will be limited as well as your hand mobility. It will be a long recovery process Cap- Doctor Watson but you are one of the lucky few who made it out alive.” The doctor talked to John about what was going to happen the next few days as well as the nurse checked all the vitals and made sure had enough morphine to help with the pain. Once they left the tall man walked over to John.

“I guess I should properly introduce myself.” The tall man with the scarf said. “I’m Sherlock.”

John smiled as he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. “It’s wonderful to put a face to the mysterious name I have been writing to for ten months, I didn’t picture you as a man with black hair.”

“You disappointed?” Sherlock asked him.

John shook his head as he opened his tired eyes. “Not in the least bit.” He told him with a smile. “But I do need to know, how did you get in here and I can’t afford this room.” John said a bit confused as he looked around in the room.

Sherlock pulled up a chair next to his bed. “I’m your brother Harry.” He said with a smile.

John furrowed his brow and looked at Sherlock. “Harry is-”

“Short for Harriet and she is your sister. Five years younger and living in Sussex with your Aunt. Yes I know this, and you know this but these idiotic doctors don’t know this.” Sherlock explained to him. “I pulled a few strings. I felt this would be the best for you to recuperate.

John didn’t want to argue. He closed his blue eyes and took a few deeps breaths. Everything was beginning to sink in, and he didn’t want to get sick again. It hurt his body to much to vomit.

“Tired?” Sherlock asked as he took John’s right hand.

John nodded his head slowly as he winced a little in pain. “I need something for my shoulders.” He said as he took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain that was shooting through his arm. Sherlock was about to move to call a nurse in When John pulled on his hand. “I’m fine; I just want to be with you at the moment. Sorry about not responding to your last letter. And for making you send a picture I won’t get.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I think being here with you is a little better.” He admitted to John.

John smiled faintly as he opened his eyes to look up at Sherlock. His black curls hung down in his face. “How long have I been out?”

“A few days. It was a medical sedation; they wanted to make sure you were out when they repaired your shoulder.” Sherlock informed him as he grabbed an ice cube and ran it over John’s chapped lips and then slipped it into his mouth.

The water felt good in John’s dry throat. Chewing it he looked over at Sherlock. “How long have you been here and have you eaten anything?”

“I have been here for a few days. I’ve had coffee and fags and then some biscuits that Ms. Hudson brought to me.” Sherlock explained to him. “Don’t worry about me; I have lived on a lot less and a lot worse.”

John chuckled, “I guess I should have had that backup plan my father always talked about.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, he squeezed his hand. “Don’t John, we will figure this out.”

“Sherlock this is not your problem-” John stopped as Sherlock looked at him, his big blue/grey eyes looking back at him. “What?”

“It’s my problem to John. I will do all I can do to help you.” Sherlock explained to him.

“Why?” John asked. “We have… we don’t know each other Sherlock. We-” John stopped as Sherlock stood up, he leaned over John’s face and place his hand on the side of his face. Placing his cupid bow lips onto John’s full and chapped ones. Their nose’s bumped but Sherlock’s was enjoying the feeling of John’s warm mouth on his.

As Sherlock pulled away, he held his face close to John’s the tip of their nose’s touching. “Because,” Sherlock said softly. “I fancy you Doctor John Watson and I don’t care what society says I want to be with you and only you.”

John lifted his right hand and placed it on Sherlock’s face. His hand tanner compared to Sherlock’s pale and slim face. “What about America. You’re job? You’re life back there?” John asked him.

Sherlock took a seat, taking John’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I moved out. My belongings are going to be shipped to our new flat at 221b; I put down the deposit for us. I hated teaching; I would have been seen as redundant anyway.”

“Why?” John asked him as he turned his head to look at Sherlock.

“I found out the school was fudging on their taxes, a few affairs and well I deduced the students to much apparently,” Sherlock explained to him, he smiled as John giggled.

“I would have loved to see that.” He informed him. Sherlock smiled as he began to tell John stories of his time in America, knowing he would enjoy them. John soon fell asleep and Sherlock watched him. As the doctors came back in a few times to check on John and make sure his shoulder was going all right. John moaned a few times and moved in his sleep but never did he actually wake up from his slumber.

Sherlock was about to doze off in his chair when he looked up and saw his brother walking into the room.

“Is this the young man?” he asked putting the handle of his umbrella over his arm. Sherlock stood up and ushered his brother out of the hospital room. Sherlock looked at his brother as Mycroft looked back at his younger brother. “I never thought I would have seen the day where my brother Sherlock Thomas Holmes would have taken to someone.”

Sherlock just looked at his brother. He crossed his arms over his chest with his jaw clenched as he stared down his brother. Mycroft looked at his brother and then continued on talking. “You should have told mother and father you were coming come.”

Huffing Sherlock looked at his brother. “Sorry, I should have told the man who banished me to the hell hole of teaching idiotic high school students. I’m not leaving London. Sorry.” Sherlock hissed at his brother with a yawn.

Mycroft looked over his brother. “You know I could have brought you a freshly pressed suit. You don’t need to look so disheveled when you finally saw this man.” Mycroft held up his hand to stop his brother from talking. “It’s going to be hard Sherlock, you and Doctor Watson you can’t-”

“I’m not an idiot Mycroft!” Sherlock hissed at his brother. Turning around he looked to see if John had woken up from the row he was about to start with his brother.

“Mummy wants to meet you before you two go running off to that flat you rented in Central London.” Mycroft explained to him. Sherlock should have known his brother and his parent’s knew where was moving to. “You can’t say no Sherlock; remember who got you this room.”

Moaning he agreed to make his brother leave. Mycroft told Sherlock that he would back with a new suit for him to change into. “You need to look suitable Sherlock, Anthea will drop it off.” Sherlock turned and walked back into the room. Taking his normal seat John turned his head and looked at Sherlock.

“Who was that?” he asked him.

“Oh, no one important just my arse of an older brother Mycroft.” Explained Sherlock.

“What did he want?”

Sherlock looked at him, took his hand and held it. “My mother wants us to go to my home when you get out of here. She wants to meet you.”

John nodded his head. “That will be nice; I feel I need to thank her and them for picking me as the soldier you had to write to.”

Sherlock smiled as he leaned over and kissed John on the lips softly.

 

~~~

John was in the hospital for three days before they released him. He was on a strict diet as well as numerous medications he had to take for his arm. Sherlock had gotten a new suit delivered to him, and he had to agree he didn’t look more suitable than before. He pushed John’s wheelchair out of the hospital, he was going to call a motor car to take them to 221b when he saw one pull up.

John turned around, his left arm in a sling to help it heel better. John was able to change out of his hospital gown and back into his uniform. “What is going on?” he asked Sherlock as Anthea walked out of the motor car.

“We are going to meet my parents.”

John nodded as he suddenly grew extremely anxious.

~~~

John smiled as he walked into his new home with Sherlock. They had walked up two flights of steps till they reached the main level. The main room was nice, it had two chairs, a couch as well as trunks of Sherlock’s belongings and no doubt new items for John.

“It’s perfect.” He said walking in and looked around. “Sherlock, everyone’s family is a tad… extravagant at times.”

“They are crazy John, there is a difference,” Sherlock said to him as he walked in and leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips. “Welcome home.” He whispered to him.

“Thank you,” John said back with a tired smile. “Where is my room?”

Sherlock looked out the door. “Up the other flight of steps if you want.” He told him. “Or you can make that into your private practice up there.”

Sherlock took John’s right hand and lead him showing him the kitchen as well explaining to him where his experiments were going to be. He then lead John down the hall and showed him his room. As Sherlock began to walk around and explain to him John looked down at the queen sized bed. As Sherlock rambled on and then walked over to make some comment about the bathroom John took this time to sit down on the bed. But once his head hit the pillow his body seemed to relax and he fell asleep.

“I was thinking,” Sherlock said as he walked out the bathroom and then stopped as he looked down at his sleeping soldier. He walked over to the foot of his bed, grabbed the afghan and laid it on top of him. He kissed the temple of his head where a few stitches lay.

“Don’t leave.” John murmured.

Sherlock stopped and turned back as John laid there with his eyes closed. Taking a deep breath in, he walked around to the open side of the bed and slid on top of the duvet. “You know if we are going to make this are regular sleeping arrangement I do want to inform you that I prefer the middle of the bed.”

John chuckled as he felt Sherlock press his body close to his as well as pull the afghan over both their bodies. Sherlock felt his body relaxing as his breaths began to follow the same pattern as John’s. His eyes slowly closed as he fell asleep next to his soldier.


	15. September 16, 1941

Sherlock waited outside the hospital for John. He had his long gray coat on; his neck was wrapped in John’s purple scarf. Sherlock blew the smoke from his cigarette out. It had been over an hour and he still had yet to see John walk down the steps of Bart’s. It had him nervous that they are telling him some bad news, he went a-wall and they are now locking him up.

Sherlock dropped his cig to the ground he took the heel of his black dress shoe he put the end out. Sticking his hands deeper into his coat pockets he began to pace. As he turned around he looked up to see his soldier walking down the steps with a woman.

_Molly Lestrade_. Sherlock said as he watched the thin brunette walk down the steps with John. She wasn’t a war widow. No she was just saving money no doubt to pay the hospital bills as well as the rent on their flat. She let go of John’s arm as they walked close to Sherlock.

“Mrs. Lestrade this is Sherlock. Sherlock this is Mrs. Lestrade.” John said introducing them. Sherlock nodded his head at her as she smiled.

“Please John, call me Molly.” She told him. “It was wonderful to finally put a name to the face of the famous Captain Watson.” She explained as Sherlock noticed John’s ears began to grow red and his face looked flushed.

“I’m not a hero, Molly.” John told her.

She placed her hand on John’s shoulder. “It was nice of you to come and see him. It meant a lot.”

“I’m just glad that he is doing better.” John told her. “If you ever need me to come and check on him when he is release please give the flat a ring. I would be more than happy to stop by.”

Molly nodded. As she turned her attention to Sherlock. “Mr. Holmes, I want you to promise me,” she said as a wind came through blowing some of her brown hair into her face. “I want you to take good care of this man and keep him safe. Just like he kept my husband safe.”

John’s face again flushed as he looked down at his worn shoes. Sherlock looked over at John and then back at Molly saying nothing. John told her that when Greg got better they would have to go out for that dinner. John smiled as Molly headed on her way and John and Sherlock headed the opposite direction.

“How is the shoulder?” Sherlock asked.

John knew he was trying to not ask him the question that was on his mind. “No more sling, which is good. I have to start therapy next week and take it easy but its healing quiet well. I will have a permanent scar on my shoulder from the bullet.”

Sherlock nodded as they walked. He pulled out his metal cigarette case. Taking a cig out, he stuck the end of it into his mouth. Putting the case back into his pocket Sherlock then pulled out his lighter. Once his cig was lit he took a drag, blowing out the smoke John began to speak.

“If you’re wondering Greg was the soldier I was saving when I was shot.” John told him his voice quiet. “I saw him go down and I ran after to help him. I know I was playing favorites but he was like a brother. And he had so much planed for when he got back, and he had Molly.”

Sherlock said nothing as he smoked.

“I couldn’t lose another person, the person who was my only family out there. It hurts to fucking much.”

Sherlock dropped his cig as he they continued to walk. “I promise,” Sherlock told him, his voice steady and strong. “I’m not leaving; this war won’t take any more from you.”

John nodded his head, swallowing he stood taller and composed himself like a proper soldier would. His hand quickly brushing up against Sherlock’s as he looked at him and said, “Thank you.”

~~~

Sherlock was climbing up the steps to something that smelt of actual food cooking. No doubt it was beans but it was food none the less. Sherlock who normally protested against such activates but he didn’t with John.

Walking into the kitchen he looked at John, it had been two months since John had been home. Sherlock loved seeing him in his civilian clothes. Today he stood there with his brown trousers, a white button down and a v-neck jumper on over it. Turning around he smiled and looked at the bag Sherlock was holding. “What did you get and how?”

“Bart’s and I can be very persuasive when I need to John, you should know this by now.” He told him as he set the bag into the fridge and then walked over to John, bending down he kissed him gently on the lips. “What did you make?”

“Beans.” John chuckled as Sherlock slipped off his suit jacket. Revealing the braces he had put on this morning, saying he was sick of wearing belts. “I did manage to get some sourdough bread though.” He explained turning off the beans as the bread popped out from the toaster. “What was in the bag?”

“Eyes.” Sherlock told him as he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up. “Have you seen my smoke case? I had it last night and then this morning I couldn’t find it.

Johns said nothing as he grabbed slice of bread for himself and put some beans on it. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he took a seat and John set the plate in front of him. John then walked back to the stove where he made his own plate and took a seat next to Sherlock.

“John,” Sherlock asked him.

John looked up at him his mouth full of food. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John swallowed his food as he got up and grabbed a small present. Sherlock looked at him. “We never got to celebrate our one year of us meeting. But I had saved up some of my pension money the army gives me every month and I wanted to get you something.” He explained handing the package over to Sherlock.

Reaching with both hands he took the package and unwrapped it. There lay his metal case embossed with the initials S.H. Opening it up he saw an engraving.

_Thank you for being my hope when I was running out of it – John_

Sherlock looked up at John. Setting the case down on the table he leaned over, placing a long boney hand on John’s face. As their lips met John leaned forward grabbing at Sherlock’s cloths. Soon both men began to stand up, their minds thinking that it be better if they moved to the bedroom. Forgoing their dinner at the table as they slowly made their way down the hallway. Sherlock pinned John against the wall just a few inches from their bedroom door. John smiled as he grabbed the braces that were holding up Sherlock’s trousers. He used them to his advantage to pull Sherlock’s close to him, their bodies pressed up against each other. John could feel the erection that was quickly forming under Sherlock’s trousers against his own. Sherlock tilted his head back as John kissed his neck. He took his hands and pushed his braces off his shoulders. Sherlock let them fall.

“John.” He said breathlessly as John looked up his hands moving to remove Sherlock from the trousers.

Sherlock pulled the jumper along with John’s white button down up and over his head. John stopped. Though they shared a room John never showed his scar. Sherlock looked at him, smiling as he tossed the shirts down onto the ground of the hallway. Bending down he kissed the star shaped scar that was on his left shoulder. “I love you.” Sherlock said breathlessly as he looked at John’s eyes. John smiled as Sherlock began to unbutton his trousers.

Both men stripped each other down to their pants as they made their way back to their room. Sherlock’s back hit the bed first. John soon climbed up and straddled him. Kissing him on his slim chest and down to his naval where his pants band began. “I love you two,” John said as he laid half onto Sherlock. Rolling over Sherlock now pressed up on his arms and hovered of John. “I want you.” John said breathlessly as he locked eyes with Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, he leaned over in the bedside table draw, opening it up he pulled out a condom. “I want you too,” he said into John’s eat his breath hot and heavy.


	16. May 8, 1945

Setting his cup of tea down on the kitchen table John rolled his shoulder. He needed to take some medication for the tension. He had a long day at work as well as he was trying to get rid the reminisce of Sherlock’s latest experiment. John looked up as he heard the front door open, slam shut and then Sherlock running up the steps. 

Sherlock had gone out to talk to Greg about helping him on cases that were even too hard for the Scotland Yard to solve. But he had been gone for several hours and John had begun to worry. 

“There you are you nutter- where have you been all day?” John asked him. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, a newspaper in his hand. He seemed out of breath as if he came running from across town to get home. “How was the meeting with Greg?” John asked looking at him as Sherlock stood there, the newspaper wrapped up in his hand. “Sherlock are you okay, are you drunk?” he asked looking at his eyes and sniffing his breath as his tall boyfriend just stood there with a grin plastered onto his face. 

Sherlock shook his head as he handed John the rolled up newspaper. Taking it from his hands he unrolled his. John grabbed onto the table as his knees gave out. Looking up at Sherlock he tried to keep his composure. “Is this for real?”

Sherlock nodded. “Seems to be the German’s surrendered yesterday and it was placed into effect as of 11:01 this evening.” She explained as John set the newspaper down. “Captain John Hamish Watson, M.D you have survived the war.” He walked close to John as he wrapped his arms around his waist and held him close. 

“No,” he said putting his hands on Sherlock’s chest. “We survived this war, Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
